


You wanna go?

by tennou



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sam Wilson, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 13:05:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6986263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tennou/pseuds/tennou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hate is a strong word, and Sam doesn't "hate" many people.<br/>He does harbor some intense feelings of dislike, however.<br/>---<br/>Includes angry sexual tension + exploration of feelings + aggressive sex</p>
            </blockquote>





	You wanna go?

**Author's Note:**

> It was kind of angsty but it turned into a rom-com somewhere along the way?? I’m not really mad though. This ship is the stuff rom-coms are made of tbh. 
> 
> CA:CW spoilers, btw.  
> Enjoy!

“So,” Steve said in that voice that usually meant the team was going to get a very camp-counselor-esque lecture.

Sam and Natasha shared a mutual look of dread as they waited.

“How are you guys settling in?” he asked, sitting down in one of the loveseats across from them.

Natasha narrowed her eyes, suspicious of the nonchalant tone Steve was forcing. “Fine. T’challa is more than accommodating.”

“Honestly,” Sam agreed, sinking back into the soft-cushioned seats that positively _sang_ of luxury. “Dude may dress up like a cat half the time but he knows how to _live_.”

“I am glad you find my taste acceptable.”

Sam shot up stick-straight at the sound of the young king’s voice behind him.

“Oh, hey,” he said a little belatedly. God, he just could _not_ say the right thing around this guy. He heard Natasha snickering beside him and he internally cursed her.

At least T’challa seemed more amused than offended.

“As for the cat comment,” he continued, walking further into the room, the smile still playing at his lips, “That is big talk for a man who dresses as a bird on the regular.”

He heard even _Steve_ stifle a laugh at that, trying to pass it off as harsh cough. Sam shot him a quick glare. “Laugh it up, man. You’re the one who dressed as a literal American flag for the past 70 years.”

Steve held up his hands in innocence. “I didn’t say anything.”

T’challa’s affable smile was still in place, although admittedly a lot more sly now. “Jesting aside, I am happy that you are all comfortable here. I just wanted to come and check on you all before I got back to work,” he said, and Sam had to control the urge to swoon.

He was the king of a whole nation, and he was taking time out of his busy day to check in on a bunch of mooching international fugitives. What a guy.

“Sharon Carter is also arriving later today,” he said, glancing between Steve and the pair situated on the loveseat opposite him. “If you would be interested in her reception.”

“When, exactly?” Natasha asked, sitting up a little straighter while trying to simultaneously maintain an air of indifference. “Do you mind if I tag along with you until she arrives?”

Sam barely restrained his instinct to splutter in laughter at Natasha’s blatant pining.

After spending months convincing Steve to give Sharon a chance at being his new shot at romance, Natasha had ended up falling for the agent herself. What had really pushed her over the edge to realizing it was news of the kiss Steve and Sharon had shared before the big fight.

She’d given Steve the silent treatment for a full week before anyone had caught on to what she was so pissed about.

The best part was that Sharon still had no clue.

Sam silently wished Natasha the best of luck in her romantic endeavors (God knew she deserved it) but still secretly reveled in the usually-suave secret agent’s obvious lovesickness. Little things like this showed she was still just as human as the rest of them.

“Of course,” T’challa replied with a smile. “There will be some rooms that will be restricted for civilian access, of course, but I’m sure the Dora Milaje will be more than happy to keep you company while you wait.”

Natasha’s smile instantly turned forced, no doubt remembering her last encounter with the bodyguard team. “Of course…” she said, letting out a less-than-enthused laugh.

Sam couldn’t resist the urge to whisper, “If you wanna hang with me, you gotta hang with my elite team of bodyguards recruited from the best warriors in the entire country too.” Natasha smacked him, discreet and efficient. He rubbed his arm in silent protest.

“Ah, before I go. Steve.” T’challa turned to address the super solider. “I also wished to discuss some…further developments with you,” he said slowly. “But they are of a somewhat personal nature. Come find me once you are free.”

Sam’s ears perked up at that. T’challa almost seemed a little…concerned.

But he was already turning to go, so any further questions would have to wait. He supposed he’d just ask Steve later.

“Ms. Romanoff? Are you coming?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Natasha responded, following after him. Sam spotted a Dora Milaje guard sizing her up, and Natasha responding in kind. Sam chuckled.

He would pay good money to see that play out.

Sam gave a little wave to Natasha and silently wished her the best of luck (something told him she’d need all the luck she could get) as she followed T’challa out the door. Then Sam turned back to Steve.

“So,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “What was it that you _really_ wanted to ask earlier?”

Steve sighed, his shoulders instantly tightening in apparent discomfort. Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Everything cool?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he said, a slight frown furrowing his brows. “I was just wondering how you guys are getting along with…”

 _Bucky_.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of what kind of answer to give.

Obviously Sam wasn’t crazy about the guy yet, but he didn’t want to tell Steve “Hey man, still feeling a little iffy about the fact that your former-BFF tried killing me a few times. Sorry about that.”

Probably not what Steve needed to hear at the moment.

“He seems to be doing fine, if that’s what you mean,” Sam said, but he knew he was dodging the question.

From the look that Steve gave him, he knew too.

Sam let out a sigh of resignation. There was no avoiding it, he supposed.

“It’s just…still a little awkward around him, y’know. I mean, with everything that’s happened…” He let his words hang in the air for a few moments before shaking his head. “But I’ll get over it. Eventually.” He cocked his head. “How about you, though? You guys make any progress?”

Steve shook his head and Sam felt his chest grow tight because Steve looked so lost, and Sam hated seeing him like this.

“Hey man, don’t stress. You know he’ll come around.”

But Sam wasn’t even sure of that himself. He felt his nails digging into his palms.

“I know I can’t expect too much so soon,” Steve said with a sigh. “But it’s just…hard.”

Sam nodded, mouth opening to say something comforting but Steve’s gaze suddenly went up toward something behind him.

“Bucky.”

The former-winter-solider walked forward into Sam’s line of vision, freshly-showered and wearing a T-shirt with a notably empty left sleeve.

“Hey.” He glanced down at Sam’s couch, the seat where Natasha had been sitting now empty. “Do you mind if I sit?”

While Sam _wanted_ to just be petty, kick his legs up on the couch next to him, and tell Barnes “Sorry, this seat is taken,” he wasn’t a _complete_ asshole. He had some decorum.  

Plus, Steve was sitting right there.

So he reluctantly shifted aside to make room and felt the couch dip next to him as Bucky sat down.

He could feel the body heat radiating off of him even from where he was sitting. He seemed to conduct as much heat as Steve did. Sam shifted in his seat.

Steve looked between them, a calculating expression on his face.

Bucky had picked up the remote and was thumbing through the different channels on the TV, so he didn’t see Steve raising his eyebrows at Sam.

Sam tried not to groan aloud, because he could practically _hear_ Steve’s voice in his head.

“What a great opportunity Sam!” he would say. “This is a chance for the two of you to get closer. Wouldn’t that be great? If my two best friends in the whole world could be _each other’s_ best friends too?”

Steve cleared his throat and stood up. Bucky’s gaze flicked over to him. “I’m going to go find T’challa and see what he wanted to talk about,” Steve announced, looking pointedly at Sam, who held back a groan. “You guys…just hang out for a little bit, alright?”

Bucky nodded.

Steve gave Sam a subtle thumbs-up when he thought Bucky wasn’t looking.

Sam rolled his eyes.

“What do you wanna watch?” Bucky asked gruffly when Steve had left the room, his eyes still trained on the screen.

At least he seemed to be enjoying this forced interaction about as much as Sam was (meaning: not at all).

Sam figured he should try his best and make an _effort_ to be civil, at least.

“I’m fine with anything.”

Bucky paused on a documentary about the construction of the Eiffel tower.

“…Except that.”

Bucky’s brows dipped down but he changed the channel. He stopped again on some dramatic-looking daytime soap opera.

“Or that.”

Bucky’s frown got deeper, but he flipped the channel again, this time stopping on what appeared to be a very slow golf tournament.

“ _Definitely_ not that. You know what, let me see the remote,” Sam said, grabbing onto it but Bucky didn’t relinquish his hold.

“Steve said I should get more acquainted with modern culture,” he argued.

Sam’s answering snort was indignant. “Yeah, well, you’re not going to do that very well with shit like this.”

They stared each other down, neither willing to give in first.

“What would you recommend, then?” Bucky asked, his cold gaze drilling into Sam’s. Was he even blinking?

“In my expert opinion,” Sam stated, not wavering in his stare for a second, and wow, Bucky had really long eyelashes, “The Golden Girls is always a good place to start. Friends, too. Not as good as Golden Girls, but a cultural icon all the same.”

Sam felt the heat coming off of Bucky’s body in waves. It was making his face hot. He swallowed. They were sitting really close, weren’t they?

“Is that right,” Bucky said, his voice still containing that gravelly-asshole quality, but the tone sounding different somehow. He ran his tongue over his lips.

Sam broke eye contact at that (though internally it felt a little like admitting defeat) and cleared his throat.

“You gonna let go of the remote or what?”

Bucky held on for a moment longer before letting go.

“Go ahead, I guess,” he said, leaning back against the couch and letting his right arm drape across the back of the seat. “Golden Girls it is.”

Sam allowed himself a small smile.

 

――――――

 

Three hours of 90’s sitcoms later, Steve still wasn’t back (or Natasha, for that matter). Dinner had rolled around and the two were left to their own devices once more.  

There was a main dining hall that they’d used for a couple of nights when they’d first arrived, and it was always an option…

…But Sam still felt unaccustomed to the whole “service like you’re royalty” thing. He suspected Bucky felt the same, so he offered to make something in the kitchenette that was attached to their wing of T’challa’s mansion (the dude lived in a freaking _mansion_ ).

Bucky seemed a little apprehensive, and Sam felt a twinge of annoyance at his overt hesitation.

“I’m no gourmet chef like the ones they got here,” Sam quipped. “But I can make some basic pasta without burning the house down.”

Bucky just gave an ( _infuriating_ ) shrug in response. “If you say so,” he said breezily, and turned to leave. Sam felt his blood pressure rising.

“Uh-uh,” he said, pointing accusingly at Bucky with his wooden spoon. “You’re not going anywhere. Your ass is staying right here in the kitchen with me and helping me make dinner. I’m not your mother.”

Bucky snorted.

“Not sure how much help I’ll be with one arm.”

Sam grinned at him a little viciously. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

Sam put him to work.

Together they smashed garlic, beat eggs, and diced onions with only minimal tears. Sam had one pot on the stove to boil the water for the pasta and another getting ready for the sauce, and Sam was pretty proud of their progress so far. They were actually making some good, edible food.

And it was probably the longest they’d gone without leaping for each other’s throats. So that was a step in the right direction.

Sam was engrossed in sautéing the onions and garlic for the sauce when he heard Bucky clear his throat behind him. Sam paused in his task and waited for him to speak while warily wondering if their tentative ceasefire was about to end.

“I’m glad you and Steve have each other,” Bucky said.

Sam glanced over his shoulder but Bucky’s back was still to him. Sam had had Bucky rolling up meatballs with his one hand and he continued to form the misshapen little balls as he spoke.

“What?”

Bucky still didn’t look up from his task, focusing on it with a single-minded intensity that Sam would frankly be a little uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of. For a split second, he thought he could still see the remnants of that mindless killer that had taken out Tony’s parents.

And then Sam felt terrible for letting the thought even cross his mind. Bucky was different now. He knew that.

At least that’s what he tried telling himself.

“You and Steve,” Bucky finally continued. “I’ve been watching you guys together. It’s…nice.”

Sam’s brows furrowed and he turned back to his simmering pan of olive oil, stirring the contents around a bit. The edges were beginning to brown.

“Oh, uh, thanks man.”

There was another stretch of silence. Sam felt like the uncomfortable tension was palpable.

“How long have you two been…?”

Sam abruptly understood the awkwardness in the air and choked on a laugh. “Oh, no, me and Steve aren’t…I mean, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it—but no,” he shook his head. “We’re not…together.”

“Oh.” Bucky sounded legitimately surprised, and Sam wondered how long he’d been walking around with the notion that he and Steve were dating. He didn’t know why, but he was glad that Bucky knew that they weren’t together. It felt important that he should know.

For some reason.

Bucky fell silent again after that, but the air felt thicker after their brief exchange; like there were still some things being left unsaid.

“Listen,” Sam said, if only to fill the deafening silence, “While we’re on the subject…have you tried talking to Steve since the fight?”

Bucky grunted in affirmation. “We’ve talked.”

“I meant more than just the typical small talk.” Sam paused. “If you’re worried about being a good enough friend for Steve…” He shrugged. “Don’t. He knows what you’re going through is tough, and…he’s not expecting miracles.”

 “I know,” Bucky said, his eyes still downcast. “It’s just. I see you two all buddy-buddy and…I remember how it was like for us. Steve and I. And…” He paused. “I miss it. Because I know we’re not ever gonna get back there.” He stopped again, as though contemplating whether he should continue. “I know what it was like before, I feel it and I remember it. But we’re not ever getting back to that. I’m…different now. He’s different. It’s just not practical.” Bucky sighed. “And I’ve made my peace with it. I just wish…”

 _That Steve would make peace with it too_.

Sam’s grip on the spoon tightened and he stared down into the pot.

“You ever consider seeing a therapist?” he asked.

Bucky snorted. Sam had pretty much been expecting that reaction from him.

“Hey,” he said, turning around to face Bucky’s back. “I know that attitudes about mental healthcare back then were…abysmal, if I’m being completely honest,” Sam muttered. “But you gotta know that getting help doesn’t mean you’re weak. If anything, you’re recognizing that you need help, and seeking it out. That’s pretty damn strong to me.”

Bucky looked back at him from over his shoulder.

“Sounds kind of personal to you.”

Sam bristled.

“Well,” he said, crossing his arms across his chest. “If you must know, it is. I sought out counseling when…” _When my best friend fell out of the sky right in front of me._ “…When I felt like I needed it,” Sam said outwardly, pushing down the twinges of melancholy in his chest. “And it was a pretty good experience for me.”

“Oh.” Bucky was gripping the edges of the counter now, tensing his shoulders. Sam couldn’t help but notice how broad and muscled his back was when he stood like that, and then immediately frowned at the direction of his thoughts.

Where the hell had _that_ come from?

“I didn’t mean to pry. I’m sorry.”

Sam shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. But you and Steve are kind of tearing yourselves apart right now, so maybe consider seeking professional help? I’m always down to lend a supportive ear as a friend, but there’s only so much I can handle.”

Bucky finally turned around, facing him.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

And there was that strange atmosphere again, the same one that had been in the air when they were on the couch before. Sam shifted on his feet under Bucky’s intense scrutiny. There was only a foot or so of space between them. It wouldn’t be too hard to just reach across and…

Bucky cocked his head. “How are you so—”

Sam didn’t get to hear the tail end of that sentence because the scent of burning filled the air and he whirled back around in a panic with a shout of, “My onions!” that immediately dissolved any of the weird tension in the air.

He flicked the stove off but the damage was already done. He was staring down into a pan of completely charred onions. A heavy sigh escaped his lips.

“Damn,” he heard Bucky comment, and felt his overheated presence hovering over his shoulder as he looked down at the ruined pan. “And _you’ve_ still got both hands.”

“I hate you.”

“You guys still flirting like a pair of schoolyard bullies?” They almost jumped apart at the sound of Natasha’s voice.

She was leaning against the counter and eyeing them with a raised eyebrow. Sharon had walked in behind her and was looking at a little lost at Natasha’s commentary.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, holding a hand over her mouth. “Are you two…?”

Bucky just looked away without a comment, which just made them look all the _more_ suspicious.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Hilarious, Romanoff. No, we are definitely _not_ , Sharon. But speaking of flirting…” He waggled his eyebrows not-so-subtly at Natasha, who immediately shot him a death glare. Sam swore he almost got goosebumps from the chill in the stare. Sharon was back to looking confused.

“Am I…missing something?”

“No you’re fine, hon,” Natasha said, smoothly sliding an arm around the other’s waist. “The boys are just being stupid.”

Sharon narrowed her eyes. Sam could tell she knew something was up, but she must have figured it wasn’t worth following up with because her expression relaxed back into a friendly smile.

“I see you guys made dinner,” she said, glancing around at the mess the kitchen was in. “Smells…” Sam could see the struggle to not make a face at the burnt smell hanging in the air. “…Good.”

“You don’t have to lie for Sam’s benefit,” Bucky said, and Sam could just _hear_ the smug smirk in his voice. “He knows he fucked up.”

“Alright pal, I burn the onions _one time_ —”

Natasha cut off the impending argument with a heavy sigh. “There they go with their shameless flirting again,” Natasha said. “Do us a favor, guys, and keep us out of your bedroom.”

Sam spluttered, indignant.

“I _told_ you we’re not—!”

“Alright, alright, let’s just take it down a notch,” Sharon interjected. “How about me and Nat take it from here? That way we’re splitting the work 50-50.” Her face was the perfect picture of innocence but Sam spotted a glimmer of something teasing in her eyes. “And you guys have enough time to get a room before dinner.”

Sam gaped. Nat gave Sharon an impressed look that _in and of itself_ required a room.

“Et tu, Sharon?” Sam said, feigning hurt.

Sharon shared a laugh with Natasha at their expense, and Sam could see the seeds of a positively sinister relationship beginning to bloom. He shook his head.

“I _will_ be taking you up on that offer for dinner though,” he said, thrusting a spoon into Natasha’s hand. “Try not to burn the place down,” he said.

“Yeah, Sam’s already got that part covered,” Bucky chimed in as he followed Sam out the door.

“Man, shut the hell up.”

The door swung shut behind them with a click, and then Sam and Bucky were alone once more.

The privacy felt strange now, after their prior broken moment of intimacy. Sam’s skin felt prickly.

“I guess we still got about half an hour before dinner,” Sam said.

Bucky’s mouth lifted up in a half-smile. “I guess,” he said.

He absentmindedly reached up to run a hand through his hair, tugging it out of the ponytail he’d pulled it into for their cooking.

Sam found himself watching the movement, watching the hair fall back down around Bucky’s sharp jaw; and he found his hand reaching up for it of its own accord.

“Does it ever bother you?” he asked, his fingers closing around a strand of brown hair. It was surprisingly soft to the touch.

Bucky froze almost immediately and it took Sam a moment to figure out why.  

“Oh! Sorry,” Sam said, pulling his hands away and holding them out in front of him.

What the hell was he doing?

Sam was normally pretty touchy-feely with most of his friends, but he wasn’t sure if Bucky even considered them friends.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, man. Sorry if I did,” Sam said.

Bucky blinked a few times before shaking his head. “No, it’s fine, you just…surprised me is all. I don’t mind, really. Not with you, anyway,” he added with a shrug.

Sam felt his pulse quicken at the implication, and he almost wished they were still exchanging barbed insults rather than _this_ , whatever it was.

Sam was terrible with feelings.

“As for your question…” Bucky shrugged again. “It doesn’t bother me much.” He cocked his head. “Why? Does it bother you?”

Bucky was looking into his eyes with that intimidating intensity again. Sam swallowed.

“No,” he answered slowly. “I kind of like it.”

Bucky reached up and twisted a piece of his hair around his finger, as though contemplating.

“I guess I should keep it, then.”

Sam felt his heart rate picking up and he hated himself for it. Stories that Steve had told him about Bucky’s old ladies’ man ways began flooding back to him, and he felt his face going warm.

“I’m gonna go see where Steve’s hung up,” Sam said, breaking eye contact and hoping to god that Bucky hadn’t noticed the flush to his cheeks. “Gonna ask him if he wants to have dinner with us. Want to come?”

Bucky finally looked away. “Nah. I think I’m going to…take a little time for myself before dinner. Besides,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “He probably doesn’t really want to see me right now.”

Sam frowned as Bucky walked back toward his own room.

What the hell had he meant by _that_?

He watched Bucky’s retreating back. He supposed he’d just have to ask Steve whenever he found him.

A sigh escaped his lips. These white boys were going to be the death of him one day, he swore.  

He turned around and set off to find Steve.

Which ended up taking considerably longer than he’d expected.

When he didn’t find him in his room, he’d checked the library, the main dining hall, and the courtyard before taking a chance and venturing up to the observatory.

“Steve? You in here?” he called into the expansive room. It was lined almost entirely with windows and now that sun had begun to set, it was near-impossible to see clearly inside. He squinted, trying to make out any Steve-shaped shadows in the darkness.

“Yeah,” he heard Steve say. Sam breathed a sigh of relief and made his way over to where he’d heard his voice.

“Where you been, man? I had to spend all day alone with your old bestie, and let me tell you, he is _not_ —”

“Bucky wants to go under again,” Steve said, effectively cutting off Sam’s teasing tirade. Sam’s mouth snapped shut.

“What?” he asked, sitting himself down next to his dejected best friend. “What do you mean by ‘go under’?”

Steve exhaled a shuddering breath, his shoulders hunching over with the exhale. “He wants to be frozen again. He asked T’challa to do it. That’s what T’challa wanted to talk to me about today.”

“Oh.”

Sam tried to display a put-together front for Steve’s sake, but inwardly, his mind was reeling.

Why did Bucky want to be frozen again? Had the fighting been too much? Was it his problems with Steve? Did he just not like spending time with any of them?

Sam felt useless. It was hard to make out Steve’s expression in the darkness, but it was plain to see his misery just from his body posture. He desperately wished he could do something to console him, anything, but he didn’t know what could even fix this situation. Aside from Bucky taking back his desires to go under again.  

“Did he say why?”

Steve shrugged. “He said he’s a danger. That it’s too easy for people to take advantage of his programming and turn him into a killer again.” He looked down at his hands, crossing the fingers together. “I get why he wants to go.” He let out a hollow-sounding laugh. “It just feels like I just got him back, you know?”

Sam couldn’t begin to imagine how that would feel, because the only person he could think of possibly wanting back from the dead was never going to return.

But he didn’t say that.

Steve seemed to realize his mistake almost instantly.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry Sam, I didn’t mean to…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m an inconsiderate idiot,” he said softly.

Sam gave him a watery smile that he probably couldn’t see in the dark anyway (or maybe he could—who knew the extent of the super soldier serum anyway).

“Don’t worry about it, man. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I didn’t _mean_ anything by it, but it was still inconsiderate of me.” He could hear the smile in his voice. “Sam Wilson deserves better than that.”

Sam grinned. “Thanks, man.” He glanced around them. “So how long have you been up here?” he asked.

Steve looked up. “It was still light out when I came up.”

Sam slung an arm around Steve’s broad shoulders, pushing down thoughts about how Bucky had been hanging around with him all day without once mentioning this to Sam.

“I’m sorry, man. I wish I could help.”

He could hear the answering smile in Steve’s voice, “You’ve already done more than enough.”

Sam leaned back, placing a thoughtful hand to his chin. “I have, haven’t I? I’m kind of the best thing that’s ever happened to you, if we’re being completely honest.”

Steve snorted, and Sam counted it as a victory.

“By the way, Sharon and Natasha are finishing up with dinner. Should be ready soon, so you wanna head down?”

Steve nodded. “I’ll be down in a bit.” He bumped Sam’s shoulder. “Thanks for checking up on me.”

“Hey, if I don’t, who’s gonna keep your pasty ass from wallowing in self-pity?” Sam replied as he stood up. “See you in a bit, man,” he said as he speed-walked out of the dark observatory.

It took all that was in him to not sprint out of the room.  

Bucky’s door wasn’t locked, so he threw it open and barged right in.

Bucky’s gaze flicked over to him but he didn’t bother sitting up. He had his arm pillowed behind his head looking like the perfect picture of relaxation.

 _Asshole_.

“Can I help you?” Bucky asked, though from his tone of voice Sam figured he already knew what he was there for.

“You’re freezing yourself again.” Sam had meant to ask it, but it ended up coming out as more of a statement.

Bucky was silent for a few more moments, as though considering how far he would be able to make it if he started running from this conversation right now. He must’ve surmised that he wouldn’t get very far, because he nodded. “Yeah. I just think it’s for the best—”

“The best for who?” Sam asked. “Are you afraid that someone is going to use those words against you again? Because let me tell you, if someone is dedicated enough to somehow find the magical words that tap into your programming and make you a mindless machine, you can damn well be sure they’ll be willing to unfreeze your ass too. Refrigerating yourself isn’t ‘saving’ anyone.” Sam was a hair away from outright yelling, but he didn’t give a shit at the moment. What mattered was setting this ex-assassin straight, once and for all.

The muscles in Bucky’s jaw tightened.

“Maybe you should close the door if you wanna continue this conversation.”

Sam scowled but kicked the door shut behind him.

“Well? Got anything to add?” Sam asked. “Because it seems to me, even though you’re talking a big game about how this decision to refreeze yourself is for the ‘greater good’ and to make sure no one takes advantage of your abilities again, you’re really only looking out for—”

In a blur of movement that Sam’s eyes weren’t quick enough to see, Bucky was off the bed and stepping into Sam’s space, pushing him up against the wall with his one arm held against Sam’s neck and a thigh pushed between Sam’s.

Sam clenched his jaw.

“What? Did I say something you didn’t like?”

Bucky’s nostrils flared as he exhaled, obviously trying to maintain his composure. Sam knew he was riling him up, but he was _angry_ dammit.

“Steve watched you die, Barnes. You literally slipped from his fingers, fell out of the sky. He thought you were dead.” Sam felt the backs of his eyes burning. “And then he sees you again and he thinks he’s got another chance. A chance to get his best friend back. You pretty much came back to life for him Barnes. And I get that—that you’re not the same, but—” A tear slipped down his cheek. “Can’t you at least _try_? You got this once-in-a-lifetime chance to be with your best friend again, a goddamn _miracle_ and I can’t believe you’re not grabbing that opportunity with both hands, because—” Sam’s voice broke. “Because _I_ sure as hell would!”

Sam was breathing heavy, eyes wide with the revelation. The reason why Bucky and Steve’s reconciliation mattered so much to him, the reason why Bucky’s cavalier attitude bothered him so much.

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall, willing the tears to stop flowing.

Bucky hadn’t moved his arm or leg away.

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked, his voice raspy.

Sam shook his head.

“Nothing, forget about it. Go ahead and refrigerate yourself, I don’t give a shit.”

Bucky swallowed before removing his arm from Sam’s neck. He remained close, though, still pressed up against Sam’s body. “I want to understand.”

Sam took in a breath, angrily wiping away the traitorous tears. At least he’d finally stopped crying.

God, he thought he was over this by now.

“I had a friend, back when I was in pararescue. We were supposed to have each other’s back and I…” He had to pause, or he knew he was going to break again. “He got shot out of the sky right in front of me. I watched him die, and I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t do anything.” He closed his eyes. “And he didn’t come back.”

Bucky didn’t say anything for a few moments, long enough that Sam began to wonder if he’d shared too much.

But then he heard him,

“Thank you for telling me.”

Sam’s answering laugh was shaky. “I just…I thought I was over this.”

“This isn’t the kind of stuff you can ever ‘get over,’” Bucky said. He was staring at a fixed point on the wall behind Sam. “You can get help dealing with it, but…it stays with you, I think.”

Sam took a moment to take in a deep breath.

Since when did the Winter Soldier get so insightful?

 _Not the Winter Solider anymore_ , he reminded himself. The differences between the two were striking, especially now.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “For projecting my own shit onto you guys. I didn’t realize what I was doing.”

Bucky’s gaze returned to Sam’s and Sam became hyperaware of how close they were standing.

Bucky still hadn’t moved away and he was close enough that Sam thought he could feel his heartbeat thudding rapidly in his chest.

Bucky ran his tongue over his lips.

“You’re allowed to be human, Wilson.”

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat. His face felt warm.

Bucky was too close. It was his stupid super-solider heating. Him and Steve were like human radiators.

“Anyone ever tell you’re really hot? Not in a good-looking way,” Sam amended at Bucky’s amused expression. “Purely from a body heat perspective.”

“ _Only_ from a body heat perspective?” Bucky asked, lifting his arm to lean it against the wall beside Sam's head.

Sam tried not to lean forward. “Yeah. Strictly platonic.”

His lips lifted in a half-smile. “Don’t lie to yourself, Sam.”

Sam swore internally and found himself wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck and yanking him forward into a kiss.

Bucky’s reaction was immediate, responding with a kiss that almost felt too aggressive and fast, but Sam didn’t care. He just wanted to be closer, feel Bucky against him in every way possible.

Bucky’s tongue traced Sam’s closed lips until he parted them for him, allowing him to push forward and taste him with a moan.

Sam’s fingers slid up into Bucky’s hair, gripping the dark brown locks when Bucky angled his head and deepened the kiss. Sam had to swallow the moan climbing up his throat; he hadn’t realized how badly he’d been wanting this until it actually happened.

Bucky pushed closer, sliding his thigh forward and pressing up against Sam’s crotch. Sam’s groaned as he pushed back against it, grinding down on the new pressure. His grip on Bucky’s shoulder tightened as he tugged harder at his hair.

Bucky was the one who broke the kiss first and Sam stared up at him in frustrated confusion.

“What?” he asked, letting his head fall back against the wall as he caught his breath. “Too intense for you, Barnes? Got to take a breather?”

Bucky’s hand slid down the side of Sam’s body, stopping at his hips. With a deft hand, he grabbed one of Sam’s muscled thighs and hooked it up around his hip to push their crotches together. Sam sucked in a sharp breath at the contact and Bucky grinned.

“I’m more worried for you, Wilson. I’m the definition of an enhanced male specimen,” he said, lifting Sam’s leg higher to press his erection against his ass. “I don’t think you can keep up.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Really, old man? You wanna play that game? Aren’t you technically like, a hundred years old?”

Bucky laughed, pulling away from the wall and steering them both back toward his bed.

“But I don’t feel a day over twenty-nine,” he said, pushing Sam to lie on his back.

“Really?” Sam asked. “Because you definitely look it. Time has not been kind to you.”

Bucky spread his legs apart, settling in between them with a smug smile. “But you still wanna fuck me.”

Sam groaned. “Just take your clothes off, old man,” he said, whipping off his shirt in record time and tossing it onto the floor.

Bucky’s eyes darkened at the sight of Sam’s bare skin and ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Sure thing, Bird Boy.” He pulled his shirt off with his one hand and threw it somewhere over his shoulder before beginning on Sam’s jeans, popping the button open with ease and tearing down the zipper.

“You got lube and condoms, right?” Sam asked, a little belatedly as he lifted his hips so Bucky could tug his pants off all the way.

“I got lotion. No condoms. I’m clean.” He paused. “Are you?”

“Yeah, but—what kind of grown-ass man doesn’t keep condoms in his room?”

Bucky pulled Sam’s boxers down just enough to expose his erect cock. “I wasn’t expecting to have a ton of sex while I’m here, if I’m being completely honest,” he deadpanned. Then he frowned. “Wait, are you just keeping spare condoms in your room right now?”

Sam shrugged. “Always gotta be prepared for anything.”

Bucky shook his head, an amused smile on his lips as he begin pumping Sam’s cock.

“Well, do you mind not being so prepared tonight?”

Sam thought about the fact that he was probably going to have Bucky’s cum leaking out of his ass tomorrow morning and winced. But a part of him also couldn’t deny the thought was kind of hot.

“Fine,” he said. “But get on with it already. I don’t want the senior citizen falling asleep on me halfway through.”

Bucky tugged off his loose sweatpants and Sam felt his face grow hotter when he saw he hadn’t been wearing anything underneath.

“Keep making those wisecracks about my age and I’ll forget about taking it easy on you,” he said, running his hand over his cock a few times before reaching for the lotion and slathering his fingers in it. Sam bit his lip as he felt Bucky’s fingers begin to push into his hole to open him up.

“Who said I wanted you to take it easy on me?”

Bucky looked up at him from his position between his legs, and Sam saw the clear-blue in his eyes had receded to a thin ring around the dilated black. He gasped when Bucky pushed a third finger inside him.

“Don’t tempt me, Wilson.”

Sam found himself spreading his legs further apart as Bucky worked him open, and resisting the urge to yelp in objection when he pulled his fingers back. Sam glanced down to see Bucky stroking over his dick with more lotion as he looked down at Sam.

“Lift your legs for me,” Bucky rasped, and Sam found himself complying, desperate for Bucky to be inside him already.

Bucky leaned down and lifted Sam higher onto his lap like he weighed nothing and Sam felt his cock beginning to leak (he found that  _way_ hotter than he should have).

Bucky kept his hand on the shaft of his cock to steady himself as he began to push into Sam. Sam’s mouth fell open and he tried not to make any incriminating noises at the stinging stretch of Bucky’s cock as he pushed inside him.

“You good?” Bucky asked once he was fully seated inside him. Sam nodded, though he still wasn’t completely accustomed to the stretch.

But then Bucky began to thrust, and all that went out the window.

It still stung a bit, but it was coupled with the heat and pleasure that accompanied incredible sex.

Bucky draped himself over Sam’s body, bracing himself with his right arm as he began to kiss along Sam’s neck, sucking harsh red bruises into the dark skin.

Sam cursed when he felt teeth break the skin.

“Fuck, Bucky,” Sam gasped. He felt Bucky smile against the skin before licking across the tender skin.

“I thought you didn’t want easy?” He punctuated this with another harsh thrust, and Sam heard the headboard of the bed bang against the wall from the force.

Sam grit his teeth.

“I was just gonna ask you,” he said, wrapping his arms around the super-soldiers broad and muscled shoulders and giving him a shit-eating grin. “When are you gonna get to the rough stuff, Grandpa?”

Bucky smirked.

 

――――――

 

Sam was awake extra-early the next morning.

After the rough (and mind-blowing) sex with Bucky the night before, he’d hurriedly gathered up his clothes and slipped back to his own room to shower before the sun came up. Neither of them ended up making it to dinner, which Sam was sure he’d have to answer for in the morning, but it was probably just as well. He didn’t really trust Natasha or Sharon’s cooking skills anyway.

The two were skilled agents—arguably the best in their fields—but they were just not very good at cooking.

After getting back to his own bed, Sam didn’t wind up getting much sleep. His mind kept turning over the events that had transpired just hours before, and whether he had done something wrong.

They’d both wanted it, right? So it was fine.

But did this mean Bucky _wasn’t_ going to cryogenically freeze himself? They hadn’t actually come to a conclusion in that respect. They’d kind of just given up on that conversation halfway and screwed each other’s brains out (although Sam couldn’t really complain about that turn of events). It _did_ leave him in a state of limbo, however, in which he didn’t know if this was actually the start of something with Bucky or whether he’d have to put his plans on hold until someone found a way to deprogram the guy. Which sucked.

And not to mention Steve.

How would he take to the news that his two best friends were screwing each other? He’d probably use those puppy-dog eyes on them. Probably lecture them on “healthy relationship dynamics.” Ugh. It sucked being best friends with America’s sweetheart sometimes.

After a night of fitful sleep, Sam headed down to T’challa’s (ridiculously large) gym, spending maybe a little too much time in there (definitely _not_ waiting to see if Bucky might show up). He showered quickly and slipped into the kitchen to make himself some coffee, where he found an already-brewed pot awaiting him. He poured himself a cup and ventured into the living area, _definitely_ not disappointed when all he found was Steve, who greeted him with a nod.

“Missed you and Bucky at dinner last night,” he said, his tone suspiciously neutral.

“Yeah,” Sam said, hoping he wasn’t walking too funny. “We, uh, had a very constructive talk.”

Steve perked up at that. “That’s good,” he said with a heartfelt smile, and Sam heaved a sigh of relief. At least for now, Steve suspected nothing.

“So?” Sam asked as he took a seat across from Steve. “Is he…?”

Steve shrugged. “We’ll see,” he murmured against his mug.

Sam gripped the mug tight as he brought it to his lips to take a sip.

They sat in a tense silence for a few moments before Steve broke the silence.

“I’m going to get another cup,” he said, standing up. “You want any?”

Sam shook his head.

He knew Steve just needed to walk around a bit to shake off some of the nerves, and it would probably do him some good. Even Sam was feeling a little jittery.

He swallowed another gulp of hot, bitter coffee, and turned the TV on to distract from the slew of thoughts in his mind, mindlessly flipping through the channels.

“Is the Golden Girls on?”

Sam nearly dropped the remote.

“Scoot over,” Bucky said, settling in next to Sam and plucking the remote from his fingers. As though he _wasn’t_ supposed to be getting ready to freeze his ass at the moment.

“What are you doing here?” Sam blurted.

Bucky continued flipping through the channels.

“I thought about it,” he said. “I thought about it a lot.” He exhaled slowly through his nose. “And I think you were right last night.”

Sam frowned, his mind unintentionally going to the _latter_ part of the night before shaking it off. That was _not_ the focus right now.

“I don’t know, man, I was really emotional last night—”

“But you brought up some valid points,” Bucky said. He cut a glance to Sam. “Me wanting to freeze myself again…yes, part of my decision had to do with safety. But a lot of it was me running from Steve. From what he wants me to be.” He chuckled. “I’ve been running from the past for two years. It’s kind of hard to stop.”

Sam let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“You know I meant what I said, right?” Sam said. “He doesn’t expect anything. He knows things are different. You two can just…heal.”

“I know that. And that was part of why I told T’challa this morning that I changed my mind.” The corners of his mouth twitched upward.

“And I dunno. I just figured you might miss arguing with me too much if I did go under, so I thought I should stick around a bit.” It was only then that Bucky’s gaze flicked to Sam’s, and he gave him the most shit-eating smirk Sam had ever seen. “Was I wrong?”

Sam’s cheeks burned.

“I hate you.”

“I bet you wish that was true.”

Sam felt a traitorous smile stretching across his face. Bucky’s hand was still on the remote but he wasn’t even looking at the screen anymore. He watched as Bucky’s gaze dropped from Sam’s eyes to his lips. He felt himself tipping forward, gravitating toward the other man. They were inches apart, and Sam could feel the warmth of Bucky’s breath against his face—

“Bucky!”

Sam jumped out of his seat so fast he thought he’d get whiplash.

“Steve!” Sam laughed nervously, hoping to god Steve hadn’t noticed that he’d been _this_ close to making out with his old bestie on T’challa’s couch. “Look who’s here!”

He needn’t have worried, though, because Steve was probably one of the thickest-headed people he’d most likely ever meet in his lifetime.

“You decided not to go into cryo again,” he observed, coming to stand in front of him.

Bucky gave him a smile, though it seemed a little forced. He actually seemed a little exasperated, but Sam figured he was imagining it.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied. “I had some compelling reasons to stay awake,” he said, gaze sliding over to Sam’s for a second before returning to Steve. Sam coughed into his fist.

“Well, I’m glad either way.” Steve placed his hands on his hips, looking between Sam and Bucky. “So are you two finally getting along now…?” he asked. Sam could tell he was trying to keep his tone neutral but the hope in his voice was obvious. He tried not to roll his eyes at his loser of a best friend.

“No,” he said at the same time Bucky replied, “Yes,” with conviction.

“Oh really?” Bucky said, lifting an eyebrow. “Because that’s not what you said last night—”

“Whoa, okay!” Sam shouted, slapping a hand over his mouth to ensure no more incriminating words came out of it. “That’s enough out of you.”

Steve looked more confused than ever.

“What happened last night?” he asked.

Bucky just arched his eyebrow again, looking to Sam.

“We just talked,” Sam said.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Sam spotted Sharon and Natasha entering the room, and he groaned when he saw the twinkle in their eyes.

This would be how he died.

“Whoa, what are we talking about here?” Sharon asked, a teasing smile on her lips. “What happened last night?”

Sam could not believe this. “Nothing! We just talked! Tell them Steve.”

Steve didn’t look convinced and instead looked pointedly at where his hand was still positioned. Sam snatched it away.

“Nothing,” he repeated. Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Well, as fascinating as it would be to continue to debate whether or not Bucky and Sam fucked last night—which, side note, they totally did—I hear we have some actual business to take care of today?”

Steve nodded. “T’challa asked us to meet him in the main dining hall. You know what it’s about?”

“It’s about the Accords,” Sharon said. “It’s part of the reason why I’m here, actually. We want to revisit them, see if we can hammer out something more manageable.” She shot Sam and Bucky a smile. “And see if we can get your guys’ fugitive status to be rescinded.”

Sam felt relief blooming in his chest. At least they were taking some steps toward progress, finally.

“Alright,” Steve said slowly. “Let’s head over.” He locked eyes with Sam, and then glanced at Bucky. “You guys…want to meet us there?”

Sam nodded.

“Right behind you,” he said with a smile. Steve arched an eyebrow at the two but left with Natasha and Sharon, leaving the pair to themselves. Sam sighed in relief once he had left the room.

“So,” Bucky said, leaning back against the couch. “You sure you don’t have something going on with Steve? Because you seemed pretty determined to make sure he doesn’t think we’re fucking.”

Sam crossed his arms. “Because we’re _not_.”

Bucky just stared at him.

“One time does not constitute the plural term of ‘fucking’.”

“Well, technically it was more than _once_ —”

“I am _not_ doing this with you.”

“Alright. Bird Boy.”

“I hate you.”

“You wish.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I am in rarepair h e l l.
> 
>  
> 
> [starfudge](http://starfudge.tumblr.com/)


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